Brain Over Binge Page 9
I decided to try what I'd learned from RR and my own insights that day. After all, what could it hurt? I wasn't having much success resisting my urges any other way. I decided to view any thought or feeling encouraging binge eating as an automatic function of my animal brain, believing that it had no power to affect my actions. I decided I would separate myself from my urges to binge and use the power of my human brain to choose not to follow them.
IT WAS ABOUT THE FOOD
When my day of working out was complete and I had nearly finished reading RR, I drove home with a new perspective. This was not the same "new perspective" I usually had after successfully purging by working out—that feeling was all too familiar, and it never lasted. This perspective was different because, during the seven hours I'd spent at the gym, I had reinterpreted my eating disorder. Thanks to information from RR and my own self-reflection, my bulimia suddenly stopped being a mystery. I felt as though a curtain had been lifted and I could finally see my behavior for what it was: a terrible habit.
That evening in May, I stopped believing, once and for all, that my urges to binge were about anything more than food. I decided that there was no deep emotional meaning there. I began believing that I binged because I'd created a habit—possibly an addiction—by doing it so many times. I began to see that I binged primarily to relieve my cravings and also for pleasure, but certainly not to satisfy some symbolic inner need. A part of my brain had become dependent on binge eating, and that was why I found it so hard to stop.
As I now understood it, a lower part of my brain—my animal brain—believed I needed to binge to survive and was therefore generating urges for this beyond my conscious awareness. I couldn't control these thoughts or feelings, but I could recognize them for what they were. Although I knew binge eating was wrong and unhealthy, my animal brain thought it was as necessary as oxygen, because I'd taught it that by binge eating so many times. Although I couldn't talk my animal brain out of these demands, I didn't have to follow its lead. I, residing in my human brain, could control my actions.
As I approached home that night, I decided that I was going to try to stop reacting emotionally to my urges and stop acting on them. I decided I would just let my thoughts and feelings about food surface, then observe them as if they were not coming from me. Then I would not do what they told me to do. This seemed like an easy plan, and part of me thought it was too simple and would never work. But little did I know as I got out of my car that evening, my bulimia was almost gone forever.
12: Resisting the Urge
It didn't take long for me to get the opportunity to practice my new strategy. I walked into my house after my day at the gym, put my workout bag on the floor, placed Rational Recovery on the kitchen table, and began making dinner. Greg called and said he was running late, so I was left alone to eat. After I finished a normal meal and dessert, I began hearing a few enticing thoughts encouraging me to continue eating. What happened then was truly surprising. I heard all the familiar reasons I should binge, and I felt the craving, but I told myself those thoughts and feelings were not my own. I told myself those thoughts and feelings were coming from an automatic, unthinking part of my brain that mistakenly sensed that I needed to binge to survive.
I told myself that I was completely separate from the part of my brain that generated these cravings, and I reminded myself that I had complete control. I pictured myself standing outside my own brain looking in, listening to those thoughts as if they were distant from my own, and knowing that my cravings had absolutely no power to make me act. I reminded myself that I—my higher brain, my human brain—was the only one who could walk to the refrigerator and begin to binge. And I chose not to.
It felt strange to form a divide between me and my urges to binge, but it also felt empowering. As I experienced my urges with detachment, it became immediately apparent that I didn't have to make them go away. I didn't have to try to talk myself out of my thoughts or feelings; I didn't have to reason with them or fight them; I didn't have to try futilely to distract myself; I didn't have to try to figure out what triggered my urge; and I didn't have to determine what emotional need my urge symbolized. Observing my brain in this way allowed me to see that my urges to binge symbolized nothing. They were not laden with deep emotional significance or hidden meaning. They simply were automatic functions of my brain, expressing an appetite for binge eating, an appetite I'd been feeding for much too long.
That night, I decided not to feed the urge, and a remarkable thing happened: the urge just went away. I remained detached from those thoughts, and they simply subsided on their own. I didn't get caught up in my feelings, and they died down. I'm not saying it was completely effortless, but it was certainly not the painful struggle that resisting binges had been before this night. I experienced the urge to binge for only about an hour at most, which was a major improvement. Furthermore, the hour wasn't distressing. It was actually quite interesting to observe the thoughts and feelings that had gotten the better of me for so long.
Listening with detachment made the urge to binge infinitely less intense. I did not get anxious, fearful, or angry as in the past; instead, I just listened without reacting emotionally. I went on with my normal activities: I watched TV, did some dishes, and checked my e-mail. Then I spent some time just sitting on the couch paying attention to what was going on in my head. I didn't feel I needed to do or not do anything in particular while the urge was present. The only thing I needed to do was not binge.
Throughout my urge, I truly felt the control I had over my actions. I didn't try to convince myself I had control without truly believing it, as I had done in the past. This time, my control was tangible. Maybe it was because I knew—based on the simple discussion of the anatomy and functions of my brain in RR —that I really did have control. I knew that no matter what crazy reasons my animal brain generated, I didn't have to act on them, because my human brain gave me the power to say no.
I realized there was no hidden disease, underlying emotional problem, or trigger that could make me walk to the refrigerator to take that first bite. There was no mysterious force that could take control of my body and commence the binge. It was my choice, and it had been my choice all along. I simply hadn't known how to exert that choice over the intense messages coming from my brain. I realized I was the only one to blame for keeping up my behavior, and I was the only one responsible for stopping it.
I BINGED TO COPE WITH MY URGES TO BINGE
After my urge to binge subsided that night, I thought about something I'd read in RR. Trimpey said that the only thing a [bulimic] is coping with when she [binge eats] is not [binge eating].29 When I'd read this statement earlier at the gym, I wasn't sure I quite understood what it meant; but now, after experiencing an urge and riding it out successfully, I saw exactly what Trimpey was talking about. Throughout my years of binge eating, I had binged primarily to deal with the negative effects of not bingeing. When I'd tried to resist urges to binge, I'd experienced anxiety and discomfort, and bingeing successfully, albeit temporarily, had quelled that anxiety and discomfort.
In the past, binge eating had immediately turned off my urges to binge; it gave me relief from irrational but unremitting cravings; and it brought me immediate relaxation because I no longer had to struggle against my urges. It was the only thing that satisfied my desire, so in effect, I'd binged to cope with my urges to binge.
I binged to cope with urges to binge, I thought over and over that night, wondering how such a simple truth could have eluded me for so long. It made so much intuitive sense; but it also seemed too simple compared to all the explanations of binge eating I'd gleaned during therapy. However, none of those explanations had ever helped me simply resist an urge to binge, as I had done that night after reading RR.
After over six years of binge eating, I seemed to finally have a viable answer to the question I'd been pondering for so long: What was binge eating helping me cope with? I saw clearly that if I had binged that night, it
would have been primarily to turn off the thoughts and feelings urging me to do so. It would not have helped me cope with any of my other problems or emotions; it would have only served to quiet the messages from one part of my brain. But I hadn't felt desperate to quiet that part of my brain that night, because I'd stayed detached from it. I hadn't reacted emotionally to my urge to binge, so I hadn't had any extreme anxiety or discomfort that I wanted to get rid of; and I hadn't felt the need to make my thoughts or feelings go away. In other words, I hadn't needed to cope with my urge by binge eating; in fact, I hadn't needed to cope with my urge at all.
This was not the answer I expected to find after all those years of therapy. I expected the answer to be far more complex, possibly related to my past, my depression, my social anxiety, my brain chemicals, or my personality. But every complicated answer I'd come up with over the years did not ring true to me. This simple answer did.
I realized that I was healthy, my brain was healthy, and I'd been healthy all along. There was no longer a mystery as to how I would stop my bulimia. Now that I knew my urges were the real problem, and now that I knew these urges weren't really me, I realized that all I had to do was completely separate myself from them and not act on them.
13: The End of My Bulimia
The night after reading Rational Recovery and successfully resisting a binge, I went to sleep with newfound confidence and hope. However, I woke up the next day feeling apprehensive. I knew what I had to do to recover, but I still feared that I would end up bingeing again. Furthermore, part of me felt anxious at the thought of giving up binge eating for good. I had been binge eating for so long that I wondered if I could live without it. I wondered what my life would be like if I quit, and part of me felt great sadness when I thought of completely giving up my bulimia, because, after all, part of me did relish every bite.
I reminded myself that the part of me that didn't want to quit was the animalistic part of my brain. Wasn't I more than that? My higher brain—my human brain—could certainly give up the pleasure, the feeling of delirium and numbness that came with being too full, the peaceful sleep that often overtook me after a binge. I had the ability to, as Trimpey put it, resume my life as someone who simply does not [binge eat].
I moved forward through my doubt, and for the next few days, I stayed vigilant. I recognized the many ways my urges to binge presented themselves and noticed the many thoughts, feelings, and moods that had led me to binge in the past, but I did not act on them. It was eye-opening to observe these thoughts as if they weren't coming from me, because they sounded absolutely ridiculous. Observing my own thoughts without connecting myself with them gave me a sense of dominance over my problem, and as I listened to my own brain, I wondered how I had ever taken it seriously.
I felt separate from my bulimia and capable of choosing a different path for the first time in many years. Now I wanted more for myself—I had dreams, goals, and ambitions, and I wanted nothing more than to be free from binge eating. I wanted to decide the course of my own life instead of blindly following my urges.
MY LAST BINGE
I did find it relatively easy to stop acting on my urges, but I did find it a bit tricky at first. My brain was often deceptive in trying to convince me to eat. It tried to tell me that it was really me who wanted to binge, that I couldn't quit without intense therapy, that I really did need to binge eat to cope with some inner need, and that I really did have a disease. Sometimes thoughts told me I was not separate from the part of me that wanted to binge. Sometimes I felt that it didn't matter what part of my brain generated my urges, because I wanted to binge nonetheless. However, I found that if I stayed detached from any thought or feeling that encouraged binge eating—no matter how reasonable or logical it sounded at the time—no thought or feeling could make me act.
I was not perfect at using my new thinking skills, and a few times during the first week, I did begin to relate to my thoughts and feelings, blurring the line between myself and the part of me that wanted to binge. I remembered the pleasure that certain foods brought me, and I began to think I was one and the same as my animal brain. Sometimes I believed I wanted what it wanted, and at the end of May—two weeks after reading RR—I acted on one of my urges to binge. I simply got swept away in the wave, and temptation took over. But this binge was different than any other, because during the binge and afterward, I saw clearly that it wasn't really me that wanted to eat.
I knew I wanted to quit; and I knew exactly what had gone wrong. I could trace the sequence of thoughts and feelings back to one point at which I stopped observing my thoughts from outside and figuratively stepped back inside my head, relating to my cravings. Instead of listening to my thoughts as an observer, as I had been doing, I began to react emotionally to them. I temporarily felt it really was me that wanted to binge, and I did.
I didn't view this binge as a setback, or as proof that I somehow needed to binge. Instead, I unmistakably saw that part of my brain had temporarily gotten the better of me, and now I was even more determined not to let it happen again. So the next time my brain provided a craving, I recognized it; I was able to listen to my thoughts and feelings without acting on them, and they dissipated quickly.
I was binge-free for the entire month of June 2005. I was pleased and rather amazed at my success, because prior to reading RR, I had been binge eating at least three times a week. I was intrigued at the way a simple thinking skill had changed my behavior so suddenly. Everything else in my life was the same and all my other problems remained—just as when I was on Topamax—but I no longer saw my other problems as related to my binge eating.
I binged only one more time—at the beginning of July—and then my binge eating was over for good. To this day, I don't even consider my last binge a true binge; in my mind, it was more of a test. When I got the familiar urge to binge on that July day, an interesting idea arose.
I am going to choose to binge, I thought. I know I am not trying to fulfill any emotional need. I know I am not out of control. I am going to choose to listen to these automatic thoughts from the lower part of my brain. I know it's not me that wants to binge, but I am going to do it nonetheless.
It was as if I had said, OK, animal brain, let's go.
I went to the refrigerator and started eating, but something different happened. Eating wasn't exciting. The food wasn't all that good. I didn't eat quickly as I had in the past, and the process wasn't very pleasurable. I stopped eating long before I would have stopped on any previous binge, because it simply wasn't the same. I don't have a firm explanation as to why this was so, but I believe it was because "I"—my human brain—remained present and separate from my animal brain during the binge. This allowed me to experience the binge with volition; throughout the binge, I knew it was my choice and I never felt out of control.
This was different from all my previous binges, because during them, "I" had disappeared the moment I gave in to my urge. With the animal brain in control, I hadn't thought about what I was doing, but had eaten quickly and mindlessly, experiencing the temporary pleasure that went with eating large amounts of food and being indifferent to everything else. My last binge was different because my eating was not mindless. I knew that every bite I took was my own, and I found that I simply didn't want it. This last binge proved to me something that I had sensed for years: that I didn't want to binge, but I felt driven to do it by some force beyond my control. This time, with the choice back in my hands, I found it nearly impossible to binge.
For the next month, I got frequent urges to binge, but I recognized them and didn't react emotionally to them or act on them. I noticed that if I separated myself from my thoughts and feelings about binge eating before they turned into cravings and powerful urges, not bingeing was completely effortless. I noticed that the only times my thoughts and feelings turned into powerful urges was when I related to them and started believing them. Then it required a little more effort to step back and detach myself. Nonetheless, my desire to
binge had decreased markedly by August 2005, and by September of that year, it was nearly nonexistent.
I no longer had cravings or urges to binge, only random thoughts and feelings that didn't require any effort to resist. These popped up from time to time for another five months or so, but they no longer bothered me or caused me any distress. As 2005 was coming to a close, I felt that my bulimia was becoming a distant memory.
NO MORE RESOLUTIONS
On December 31 of that year, I was visiting Greg's family for the holidays. It was around ten o'clock at night, and I was alone on the couch in the home of one of Greg's relatives. I was watching TV and babysitting Greg's young cousins, who were sleeping upstairs. As I lay on the couch, I heard a familiar voice in my head. You're all alone, and you've done so well not bingeing for so long. There is so much good junk food in this house, and no one will even notice it's gone. Bingeing just one more time won't hurt. You deserve it, the voice said. New Year's Eve is a perfect time to binge because you can just make a new resolution tomorrow. Plus, you are feeling lonely and scared in this dark house, you've been stressed trying to fit in with Greg's family, and you're angry that you had to be the one to babysit tonight while everyone else went out. Eating will make you forget all that and help you sleep.
In reality, I chose to babysit and felt good about that decision. I wanted my husband to have a good time with his family, whom he is very close to yet doesn't get to see very much, living on the opposite side of the country. I'm not a fan of going out to bars, and I much preferred be home alone than in a crowded, loud place, even if it meant a little anxiety being in an unfamiliar house. I may have been a little stressed over the past several days socializing with Greg's family, but that was pretty typical for me and altogether manageable. However, when generating thoughts about binge eating, my brain had a way of turning any situation into a "poor me" story. My brain picked up on anything that would make me feel sorry for myself and tempt me to binge, even if it was blatantly false.